23 Completely Rational Fears Everyone Has When Going Through the Interview Process—Right?

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July 25, 2017

I’ll get so nervous worrying about my boss finding out that I’m applying to new jobs that I’ll subconsciously email everything to her. She won’t ever bring it up, though—forcing me to always wonder if she saw it.

My resume will be full of typos. And swear words. Including ones that I didn’t even know existed. It will turn out I just sent a screenshot from Urban Dictionary, instead of my resume.

In a rush to get everything in, I’ll attach an old photo instead of my cover letter. It will be from freshman year of college when I dressed up as a sexy ladybug for Halloween. The person reviewing resumes won’t find it sexy. Also, she’ll have a ladybug phobia.

I’ll address the cover letter to Mrs. Jordan Smith, then find out that Ms. Jordan Smith just got divorced, and she’s still bitter about it.

The company will call me in for an interview the very next day and I’ll have to pretend I have a medical emergency. In a nervous panic, I’ll tell my boss I’m pregnant. She’ll say, “I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.” Then I’ll say, “His name is Ian and he’s just so wonderful!” And then I’ll have to continue making up stories about Ian, sonograms, and our wonderful future together until nine months are up and I have to quit—without Ian, a baby, or a job.

The subway will break down on the way to the interview. And I’ll be in the one car with no AC. There will be no way to tell the hiring manager where I am and why I’m MIA. I’ll arrive two hours late, covered in sweat, and smelling of someone who just spent too long listening to aspiring musicians in an enclosed space.

I’ll get food poisoning on the day of my interview. But it won’t hit me until halfway through. I’ll pretend like everything’s totally OK, while slowly dying inside. The hiring manager will write, “grimaces excessively” in his notes.

I’ll wear the same outfit as the woman interviewing me, except she’ll pull it off much better.

I’ll wear the same outfit as the woman interviewing me, except I’ll pull it off much better. I won’t say anything, but we’ll both know.

My hands will be sweaty when I go in for the shake. I’ll awkwardly acknowledge this and he’ll say, “Oh, they are” and then try to discreetly wipe them on his pants.

I’ll write down the wrong time for the interview. Also the wrong day. Also the wrong company. I’ll realize the entire phone screen was a fever dream I had. The company’s not even hiring (nor does the limit exist).

The person interviewing me will ask if I’d like any coffee. I’ll say yes. Then she’ll say, “Anything in it?” I’ll say, “No, thank you,” in an effort to be seen as easy-breezy. Then I’ll be forced to choke down black coffee throughout the interview, pretending it’s perfect.

I’ll develop a nervous laugh. It won’t be flattering. A girl in the next conference room over will later describe it as a cackle. Or a cat slowly dying.

When asked to tell the hiring committee a little bit more about myself, I’ll start with my parent’s divorce.

My phone will ring. And the hiring manger will then know I have a phone.

When I’m asked if I have any further questions, I suddenly won’t be able to think of any, so I’ll say something wildly inappropriate like, “Have you ever hooked up with anyone in the office?

On the way out, I’ll ask the receptionist where the restrooms are. She’ll then send out an email to the entire company, telling people that the candidate “uses restrooms.”

The company will offer me the job, but it’ll want to pay me in free snacks and LinkedIn endorsements. Oh and the option to work from home on Labor Day.

The company will offer me the job. It will come with amazing benefits, great pay, and unlimited vacation. Right as I’m accepting, my Gmail will get hacked and every horrible Gchat I’ve ever typed will be exposed to the world. The offer will be rescinded. I will be blacklisted from all jobs and forced to star on a reality show with the dentist who killed Cecile.

I’ll start the job, and I’ll like it, and when all my friends are complaining about their jobs, I won’t be able to chime in at all without being seen as a total braggart.

Everything will go perfectly and I’ll have nothing to discuss in therapy.